


The Truth Among Our Lies

by Elanra



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M, beyond, mid-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elanra/pseuds/Elanra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s made and settled into a state of stillness that reminds him of things bygone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth Among Our Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> **Notes:** I had this in my head for a while. I wouldn't be able to write this down if it wasn't for [thesexymaid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thesexymaid/pseuds/thesexymaid). I gift this to her for all the inspiration and motivation she gives me everyday not only in matters of writing but also in matters of life, of hope and of compassion.

The storeroom in the bakery smells of flour and baking powder. With the flick of the light switch Shion finds himself looking at the room he has spent four years in and feeling a peculiar sense of estrangement. Behind heavy ecru bags, squeezed in the farthest end of the small room one could cross in three strides, sits Shion’s bed. It’s made and settled into a state of stillness that reminds him of things bygone. Light camel floorboards creak as Shion leads the way; a soft rattling sound of scurrying mice following him closely behind.

“You sit down. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

“I can’t wait to see how much your wardrobe has improved.”

“Not much, I am afraid. I didn’t have a lot of money to spend on clothes.”

A short silence allows the rustling sound of the three mice climbing on top of the bed to reach Shion’s ears. Then he hears a soft _heh_.

“Just don’t give me a cardigan.”

Shion smiles despite the bitter feeling in his stomach burning idly like acid. 

“Duly noted.” 

Everything Shion owns in terms of _wardrobe_ is stuffed in a chest under a desk placed across from his bed. He pulls it out and opens the lid. His hands move in haste, pushing aside coats and trousers and fumbling through his shirts. He finds a plain black undershirt and a pair of light grey sweatpants which he pulls out at once, causing the careful arrangement of clothes in the chest to topple one another and settle in a sad, careless mess. 

The moment Shion turns from the chest towards his bed, his body freezes. Sitting on his bed, Nezumi is pulling his light colored shirt of his left arm with slow, careful gestures; wearing a painful frown and beads of sweat coating his forehead. Shion rushes to his side, discarding the clothes in his hand on the bed as he holds the dirty, bloodied shirt as gently as he could.

“I’ve got it.”

Nezumi allows him without uttering so much as a word and that alone tells Shion just how tired and how much in pain he really is.  With the shirt out of the way, Shion can see the fiber of the gauze wrapped around his torso splotched with red. The shade is a dark crimson right over his heart and lightening gradually with every inch outwards from the wound. The blood serum he had received at the clinic in Lost Town was supposed to stabilize his blood pressure value and slow down the hypovolemia through the bullet wounds on his chest, leg and arm. The stitches are likely still in place because the bleeding is relatively minor compared to how it would be with an open wound. After the operation in the clinic, instead of resting, Nezumi had gotten up on his feet and over-exerted his body, stretching his wounds and causing more blood loss just so he could go to the Moondrop. 

There is a sheen of perspiration on his skin and he looks even paler than he normally does. Shion feels his hands shake as his fingertips touch lightly at the bandage on Nezumi chest. Nezumi is panting faintly from the effort he has spent taking his shirt off and Shion realizes that he is only now feeling the true effects of his wounds with no adrenaline to course through his veins and numb the pain. 

There is a soft knocking on the door of the storeroom. Shion quickly walks to it and opens to find his mother at the door with a large basin, towels, medication and several other tools in her arms.

“I’ve turned the water heater on, Shion. In case either of you feel like taking a shower.”

“I think it’s best if we leave it for the morning. I am just going to clean his wounds and replace the bandages for now.”

“Thank you, Karan.”

Nezumi’s voice, although strained, is honest and sincere. 

“It’s nothing, Nezumi. I wish I could do more.” Karan looks truly worried as she passes the basin and removes a small tin box from under her armpit; extending it to Shion. It’s a small first aid kit, not unlike the one Shion had used to stitch Nezumi’s wounds when they were 12.  

“Thank you, mom. You are already doing so much.” Shion feels an overwhelming sense of love towards his mother. Not only because he had not seen her for almost six months up until a couple of hours ago but also because how he could see her in an entirely different light now. It was as if he had always been looking at her with the flickering light of a cheap candle and could make out only her most prominent features but now, he could see her under brilliant sunlight. Her strength, her patience, her kindness and determination hadn’t wavered once during those six months he was away. She was forced to hold back her emotions, discard her worries as a mother, suppress her thirst to be reunited with her son again and wait at this small bakery. But she had not crumbled. She had greeted every day with hope and faith and had waited patiently for Shion’s return. 

Karan smiles lovingly at her son.

“I’ll leave you two be. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Goodnight, mom.”

“Goodnight, Shion. Nezumi.”

“Goodnight, Karan.” 

When Shion returns with the basin filled half-way through with warm water, he finds Nezumi in the middle of a heavy scrutiny of his room from where he sits.

“So, this is where the city put you in after you were thrown out of Chronos four years ago?”

“Yeah.”

Shion places the basin next to Nezumi’s foot and kneels between his legs. He rips the top side of a small disinfectant powder bag and pours the contents into the water. Then he picks up one of the clean towels and leaves it inside the water. Turning around, he raises both hands to Nezumi’s bandages and slowly and very carefully begins to unwrap them from around his chest. 

“And you still insist you don’t regret it?”

Shion looks up to meet Nezumi’s grey gaze. His stare is fixed; nothing but curiosity showing on his face. Shion doesn’t need to ask him what he is talking about. There are only a few things he feels as certain and almost all of them is about Nezumi. 

“No. I don’t.”

Nezumi doesn’t reply but he inhales sharply as Shion languidly removes the bandage off his flesh. Just like Shion has thought, the stitches are in place and the wound hasn’t opened. But the over-exertion has made thin trickles of blood prickle through the stitches, dyeing his gauze bright red. Shion feels his heart turn to lead and drop heavy inside his stomach. Seeing Nezumi so hurt, broken, _injured_ and knowing what caused it makes him want to scream. His throat feels tight and his eyes burn. Shion reaches for the towel in the basin and wrings out the excess water before raising it to Nezumi’s chest. Blood stains dissolve and expand in murky drops as water touches them. Each feather-light brush of the towel against them clears more of the red clinging insistently to Nezumi’s chest. Shion is extra careful and very slow as he cleans the area around the bullet wound. Nezumi makes no sound as Shion works but Shion can feel his gaze on his face. On his hands as they brush lightly against his skin. 

“I am tempted to say that this has become a tradition between you and me.”

A shaky laughter escapes Shion’s lips before he holds back the bitter rest piling at the back of his throat. His chest aches, his eyes continue to burn and his jaw clenches tight to keep himself from letting out another sound. Because he knows if he does, he won’t be able to hold back anymore. When the wound is finally cleaned, Shion’s fingertips feather over the stitches holding Nezumi’s flesh together where it was pierced and torn by the bullet. His hand flattens over the wound and he feels Nezumi’s heartbeat beneath the ruptured skin and the fragile cage of his ribs. It was less than an inch that had saved him. Less than an inch between his heart and the bullet that lodged itself in his chest. Less than an inch between life and death. 

“Shion.”

Nezumi’s voice is low and deep. _Knowing._ There is no inquiry in it, no reprimand, no accusation. He calls out to him like he has for the past six months and it is the familiarity in that voice that undoes Shion. 

“I am sorry, Nezumi. I am so sorry,” he whispers and sinks on his heels right where he sits. He can’t stand looking at the wound anymore. His head falls lower, eyes closed tightly to hold his tears back but his hand remains over the wound he caused. Over the heart he almost silenced. Over the boy who was willing to save his life at the cost of his own.

Nezumi doesn’t say anything nor does he move away from his touch. Shion inhales and tries not to think about the moment his world almost fell apart—the smell of smoke choking him, the slippery sense of blood on his fingers, the deafening noise in the building, the maddening silence in his head. As he releases his breath, feeling every inch of him ache with regret and guilt, he feels a hand on his hair. A powerful wave of tears almost crushes him but Shion resolves himself to not cry before him. Fingers weave through his dirty hair, and caress the side of his head; gently, tenderly, slowly. Nezumi tips his head up and meets his gaze. He looks exhausted, spent, hurt and heart-breakingly beautiful. His grey eyes are alight with life; the vitality in them gushing out in a quiescent calm. It always feels the same—just like being wrapped in a soft blanket. Tears he rejected well up in Shion’s eyes.

“You would have done the same,” Nezumi says. 

And it’s the truth. It’s their one unshakable truth. The core of their interwoven bond. They will always help each other. Extend a hand when the other falls, forgo anything within their hold for the other’s sake and risk their lives without a moment’s hesitation to make sure the other survives. And there is nothing in the world; no walls separating them in disparity, no distance mapped out by miles and no time measured by calendars that could ever efface that truth.


End file.
